


xxi. i don't feel so well

by tempestaurora



Series: the kids aren't alright [whumptober 2020] [21]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Character Study, Chronic Pain, Gen, Whump, Whumptober
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:53:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27133456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tempestaurora/pseuds/tempestaurora
Summary: Luther didn’t like to complain, but his body always ached.It was the persistent kind, the full body kind. His muscles shrieking constantly, his head pounding in the aftermath. It hadn’t just started with the transformation; it had been around since long before that.
Series: the kids aren't alright [whumptober 2020] [21]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1930186
Comments: 19
Kudos: 63





	xxi. i don't feel so well

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sionnachsSkulk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sionnachsSkulk/gifts).



> Prompt: Chronic Pain
> 
> gifted to sionnachsSkulk for suggesting a fic about luther and chronic pain from all the muscle stress he had to go through as a kid

Luther didn’t like to complain, but his body always ached.

It was the persistent kind, the full body kind. His muscles shrieking constantly, his head pounding in the aftermath. It hadn’t just started with the transformation; it had been around since long before that.

When Luther was three years old, he lifted the dining room table by its leg and held it there while the nanny raced around the room, panicking and screaming for him to put it down. The nannies were always panicking and screaming back then, though they tried to keep a good face for the kids. But Allison liked to rumour them into getting her treats, and Diego threw his toys with deadly accuracy. Klaus was always crying and flailing at the gruesome ghosts that haunted him – and often at the nannies, when he could no longer tell who was dead and who was alive. Five toyed with them, and Ben’s _tentacles_ toyed with them, and Vanya sent them flying clean across the room.

Luther finally dropped the table when his shoulder started burning from the effort. It landed on the nanny’s leg, snapping the bone in two.

When Luther was five, he was already lifting things several times his weight and size, and he was always tired. By the time he was seven, training was daily and intensive. He was going to save the world someday, he was Number One, he had to put the most into being a hero.

He was in the gym every day, even when his father said it was someone else’s turn, he remained, growing bigger and stronger and more dedicated. His father never told him to leave, if he continued to work out, so he never did. At the end of the day, he’d fall into bed with aching arms and legs, with a heartbeat so erratic it took an hour to die down.

When he was ten, he told Grace in a moment of weakness about the constant soreness in his muscles. She started running him baths after his long days and gave him special gels to rub onto his limbs to help them feel less like fire.

They never really worked though.

When Luther was twelve, they foiled a bank robbery and revealed themselves to the world. In the interviews, Luther would be asked things like _How did you get so strong?_ and _How can other kids get as big as you?_ And Luther would joke about it being half his superpowered genetics and half a healthy diet and good exercise regime. He didn’t tell anyone about how badly he hurt all the time, about how it was getting harder to get up in the morning, though it was only his willpower that forced him out of bed.

He was a superhero, he had to save the world.

When he and his siblings sneaked out to Griddy’s one night, he found a discarded magazine in a booth, and read it while waiting at the cash register. There’d been a title on the cover: _What must it really be like in the Umbrella Academy?_ and he wanted to know what they thought – did they think it was all fun and games? A household of superpowered brats and loving parents? He wanted to read that they thought the world of the mansion, of the students – but what he read was painfully accurate, a rundown of what life must be like to produce superhero children.

_Sometimes I lay awake thinking about Number One,_ the article read, _and his excess super strength. Training constantly, working out so much that he hasn’t felt his muscles relax since infancy. Does he know that other children his age don’t go on special diets? Does he know that other children his age don’t go to the gym at all? I imagine he doesn’t, because what do you think The Umbrella Academy students really know about the real world?_

He threw the magazine in the trash and ordered their donuts. He’d have to do extra time in the training room tomorrow to make up for the treat, but he was Number One; this was what it meant to be a leader.

Sometimes, Luther cried at night, though he’d never tell anyone that.

He cried because he hurt. He always hurt. He never stopped hurting.

One night, when there was a soft knock at the door, and Allison poked her head around, her eyes wide as she whispered that she’d heard something from his room, he raced to think of an answer that wasn’t _Everything hurts so bad, Ally._

“I just miss Five,” Luther said, pressing his face into his pillow. “Go back to bed.”

When Luther was fifteen the ache in his body kept him awake most nights. In the morning, he’d stare at the alarm clock, counting down the seconds until he’d have to force himself out of bed and get dressed and pretend to not be ready to keel over with pain.

Sometimes, Luther cried at night, though he’d never tell anyone that.

He cried because he was in agony. He was always in agony. He never stopped being in agony.

One night, his door opened and Diego frowned down at him, a silhouette in the light of the hall.

“Are you _crying?_ ”

“What? No?”

Diego huffed. He seemed lost for a moment. “Can you keep it down? I’m trying to sleep.”

The two of them didn’t move, just stared at each other in the dim shard of light. Luther was pretty sure he’d scream if he moved. They’d gone on an intensive mission today that had gone wrong, and Luther’s muscles hadn’t stopped hurting since.

“Are… _you_ crying?” Luther asked a moment later.

Diego stepped back. “ _No,_ ” he hissed.

Luther sniffed. “It’s okay to miss Ben, you know.”

He felt awful straight to his core that he hadn’t been crying over Ben’s death at all.

When Luther was eighteen, he was officially alone in the mansion. He trained all day and swore himself out for it all night. The missions were solo now; he had to pick up all the slack, all the weight. Grace ran him baths still and left out pain killers and gel to rub on his muscles.

He thought of stopping, of going to a spa and falling asleep and getting a massage and never coming back.

Then he thought of the apocalypse, the end of the world that he would prevent; he alone, because he was the only one left. He went back to work the next day and refused to let his father see weakness.

When he thought about a life away from the Academy, it seemed bleak. But one night after a mission, he didn’t immediately return home and instead watched fire and rescue show up to tend to the victims and put out the burning building.

Luther thought, _I could do that._

If he wasn’t in constant pain, maybe he could.

If he wasn’t already a superhero, maybe that’s who he’d be.

On the mission where Luther’s heart stopped beating, his final thought was, _I missed this._

His entire body relaxed in that final moment of consciousness. All the pain and hurt washed away like the tide. For a moment, he felt nothing but soft, blissful darkness.

And then he woke up and the pain was worse than ever.

His muscles felt like they’d been stretched, twisted, coiled and curled. Every breath was laboured, like his body couldn’t keep up with his lungs, and when he opened his eyes, he was something else.

_Someone_ else, maybe. Because this wasn’t Luther Hargreeves.

This was Luther Hargreeves in a gorilla suit and he broke down and cried right then and there.

The list of things he hated about his new body was extensive, ever-growing. Right at the top was that it had enhanced the pain. Finally, though, he told Grace and Pogo everything; he insisted on getting help because of what his father had done to his body. But now, spliced with _monkey DNA,_ pain killers didn’t work and he was left to lay in a bed too small for days on end, in so much pain it was somehow numbing.

He was a monster and he hurt.

At night when he caught minutes of sleep, he dreamt of King Kong and he finally got it. Why he was angry, why he climbed to the top of that building, why he was screaming. Luther was just like King Kong now, and he started to think about causing havoc and climbing a building and letting the United States army shoot him down, too.

There was a fire in the house opposite the mansion. Luther didn’t move from his window. He just watched.

When fire and rescue showed up, he held back the painful sob that would no doubt cause his entire chest to seize up. That could’ve been _him._ Why wasn’t that him?

In space, no one could hear Luther cry or complain or ache. And that was exactly why he’d been sent up there. It was a bonus that his father wouldn’t have to look at him anymore.

When Luther was twenty-nine, the apocalypse rolled around at last. He’d spent half a decade looking like this, and three in a state of discomfort and worse. Just for this moment; just to fail. He ploughed through his aches and pains and did everything he could to stop the world from ending.

He tried to keep his family together, he tried to keep them alive. He locked up Vanya and told himself that it was for the best; it was for the good of the world. She’d calm down and understand and then they could talk it out. But in the meantime, she’d be _contained._ Her world-ending powers would be _contained._

All he wanted was to make everything he went through not for nothing.

All he wanted was to not have wasted the last three decades of his life.

All he wanted was to _stop fucking hurting._

As Vanya drained the life out of him in the Icarus theatre, Luther could only think that he preferred his last death. The one where he got a glimpse of peace. This one was all agony; this one was all violence.

When Jack Ruby asked what his fighting name would be, Luther waved a hand.

“I’m a modern day King Kong, Jack,” he replied, which made his new boss laugh, though Luther had barely meant it as a joke.

No, he was angry and confused and scared. He was climbing the walls in a time he didn’t know, a place he didn’t recognise. And Luther _still_ hurt.

Luther _always_ hurt.

Even when they saved the world, Luther Hargreeves never stopped hurting.

**Author's Note:**

> things i like to think about: how all the children probably tormented the original nannies, not just vanya, because she had to get that bad attitude from somewhere, and either luther or diego joining the fire department. this might be because i'm obsessed with 9-1-1 and Lonestar, but they'd both do great in fire & rescue
> 
> anyway thanks for reading, please talk to me in the comments, i haven't written tomorrow's fic yet. i wrote today's in the last hour, and now i've gotta find time tomorrow to get tomorrow's done. so if you have any ideas PLEASE tell me in the comments. the theme is "do these tacos taste funny to you?" and the prompts are "poisoned, drugged and withdrawal" now i KNOW the obvious answer is klaus, but i'm personally not vibing rn with writing a fic about klaus in withdrawal and tbh if you can think of anything slightly fluffy to write about tomorrow, it'd be a welcome breather after writing 2k of luther pain, thank you


End file.
